


Sebastian Egan: Lonesome

by skysonfire



Series: Sean Bean [5]
Category: Legends - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Journalist, One Shot Collection, Sean Bean - Freeform, Smut with a Story, bermuda - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 12:12:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5374793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skysonfire/pseuds/skysonfire





	Sebastian Egan: Lonesome

He wears soft blue linen — the cuffs of his sleeves left free. His straw fedora covers his eyes as he lazes against the low set Adirondack chair; his legs outstretched and crossed; his feet bare. The Bermuda sun cares for him, and she can see the hue of his skin changing — a flush that will transform into a warm glow. The elements weather him in just the right way and show him to her in a careful manner; an honest manner, despite all of his dishonesty.

He can hear the clap of her sandals striking against the bottoms of her heels as she approaches. She knows because he smiles that vexing half-smile, which forces her heart against her ribs.

Night approaches and dusk settles with its delicate dance of red and purple splashed across the sky, reflected like some kind of hypnosis in the gleaming turquoise bay. He rubs his fingers together and she brushes the hair from her eyes as the sleepy sigh of the day casts itself about them.

“And how would you describe all of this, journalist?” She perches herself on the arm of his chair.

He shifts and dons his hat properly. Placing his palm on her bare knee, he pushes forward in the chair and turns at the waist to face her.

She moistens her lips and watches the clouds pass by in the sea-drenched touch of his shaded eyes.

“It depends very much on the part to which you are referring.” He smiles broadly and moves his hand under her knee, petting her warmed skin with his thoughtful fingers.

There is a heavy-eyed sound to his voice and they are far away from anything that matters — listing in a place that holds no care for their web of woven stories, so carefully crafted and so delicately intertwined. She studies him as he watches her and she knows that he’s not this man at all. Specter; shadow; legend.

She shifts and forces his hand higher up her thigh. There is truth to the way he touches her.

Leaning forward, she takes from him the kiss she’s come to know, colored by predictable hints of scotch. He breathes her in and she places her hand on the back of his neck. He’s pushed under her dress now, his touch rubbing cautiously against her thin panties.

“It is a lonesome paradise,” he ruminates across her mouth. “All of this lush magic thrust so carelessly in the middle of the ocean.”

He weaves his fingers inside her panties and rotates along her mounting desire. Her breath shakes and she bites her lip.  
He is pointed with his movements and he quickens when she squeezes his arm. She can feel a dangerous heat spreading through her abdomen, its tendrils working their way into her gut and chest. She sighs into the night that begins to blanket the sky in stars, watching like sentinels.

“I think it makes you romantic, love,” he muses, his touch so commanding.

“Oh, god,” she whispers, her pulse pounding in her throat and between her wet thighs. “Sebastian, stop.” She presses her eyes closed.

He huffs with a sound of satisfied amusement and pushes two fingers inside, his thumb working her sensitivity as he drives her on just hard enough to threaten fury.

“Stop,” she repeats, more loudly, but she moans and bucks forward. She knows that his intensity for her is growing and she can see a sheen on his neck where his life beats.

“Do you mean that?” He asks, but the blood courses hard through her ears and she grips hard at his shirt when she comes, trying to control the quick exhales escaping her mouth.

“That’s right,” he chants, softly. She can hear the sound of his voice change even through her striking pleasure. His accent, so formal, gives way to a dulcet tone — one that Sebastian Egan would know only from storytelling. Secret; mystery; liar.

“Lonesome,” she releases the word breathily and fingers the brim of his hat, her heartbeat steadying. “Yes.”


End file.
